977.351 
B57p 


BLAIR 


PICTURES    OF   THE    PAST;    MEM 
ORIES    OF   OLD    TOULON 


JRCSRORICS 

^«m_^^^^^^^_^^^^^_ 

^^M  ^^WBB     •HBI  ^^1^^   ^VMBB  iHh  ^••^   iHKJMBi 


PRESENTED  TO  THE  OLD  SETTLERS 

or  STARK  COUNTY 


MRS.  H.  M.  BLAIR 


RS.  HARRIET  ML  BLAIR 


Wrote  these  reminiscences  at  various 
times  when  occasion  or  incident  called 
them  forth.     Fearful  of  criticism  from 
those  to  whom  they  will  mean  nothing, 
the  author  has  with  reluctance  consented 
to  their  preservation  in  this  little  book, 
hoping  they  may  recall  faces  and  scenes 
that  are  gone. 

For  some  readers  they  will  make  bright 
again  the  light  of  the  waning  lamp 
of  memory. 


1- 

4 


'Memory  is  the  only  friend 
That  grief  can  call  her  own. ' ' 


PIONEER  REMINISCENCES 


HE  stories  which  beguiled  the  happy  home  of 
my  childhood  often  began  with,  "Once  upon  a 
time,"  so  I  will  say  once  upon  a  time  over  sixty 
years  ago  I  looked  upon  this  land  of  promise — 
fair  Illinois!  The  pioneers  were  men  and 
women  in  their  prime;  the  old  were  too  deeply 
rooted  in  their  native  soil  to  bear  transplanting. 
The  impulse  of  adventure  led  these  intrepid  set- 
tlers onward  and  westward.  Poverty  and  priva- 
tions only  added  stimulus  to  effort.  Vast  possi- 
bilities loomed  up  in  all  directions.  The  homes 
were  rude  cabins;  native  vines  clung  to  the  rough 
logs  with  the  tenacity  of  a  pioneer  friendship. 

The  smallest  amount  of  furniture  possible  satisfied  the  occupants  of  these 
cabin  homes.  A  few  wooden  pegs  in  one  corner,  concealed  by  a  curtain, 
held  the  family  wardrobe  and  furnished  the  ladies  a  boudoir.  The  side- 
boards differed  from  those  now  in  use  in  many  ways.  An  unplaned 
board,  resting  on  three  huge  pegs  constituted  the  cabin  sideboard.  No 
mirror  reflected  happy  children's  faces  as  they  looked  longlingly  upon  the 
heir  loom  pieces  of  crockery  that  adorned  this  rude  shelf.  Sometimes  a 
short  curtain  was  attached  to  this  sideboard  and  hid  many  of  the  house- 
keeping utensils.  No  polished  drawers,  well  filled  with  costly  linens,  were 
there,  and  the  pioneer  mother  spread  the  simple  meal  on  a  table  none  too 
smooth,  but  the  family  had  pioneer  appetites  and  the  wild  game  and  the 
products  of  the  home  garden  furnished  ample  food,  which  was  well  sea- 
soned with  good  cheer. 

While  the  children  were  busy  and  happy  with  the  birds  and  flowers, 
their  parents  were  busy  solving  the  problem,  "Will  the  promises  this 
country  gave  of  future  greatness  ever  be  realized,  were  her  beckonings 
honest  ones?"  Where  our  busiest  streets  are  today,  pioneer  feet  trampled 
the  wild  roses.  Here  the  nighthawk  flew  downward  to  the  earth,  uttering 
her  impassioned  notes  and  made  her  nest  on  the  prairie  sod. 


How  these  reminiscences  guide  us  into  paths  leading  up  to  the 
pioneer's  heart — voices  come  back  to  us  over  the  grave  of  years.  We 
are  young  again;  we  feel  the  touch  of  a  mother's  hand. 

The  dying  leaf,  gorgeous  in  autumn  tints,  did  not  whisper  to  the 
young  of  decay;  the  blighting  frosts  of  winter  brought  to  them  visions  of 
coasting  on  the  hillside,  of  happy  sleighing  parties  in  the  old-fashioned 
bob-sled,  when  it  took  so  little  to  keep  them  warm.  After  the  eye  has 
grown  dim  and  the  step  faltering,  we  can  turn  on  the  lights  of  memory 
and  wander  back  over  these  old  days.  We  pity  those  who  have  not  at 
some  period  of  their  lives  been  pioneers.  Those  who  have  never  passed 
through  frontier  experiences  are  poorly  fitted  to  enjoy  modern  homes,  or 
modern  luxuries. 

The  generous  hospitality  found  in  these  cabin  homes  has  faded  out 
of  life;  it  has  given  place  to  social  tyrannies,  and  after  all  the  kindly  im- 
pulses of  the  human  heart  are  worth  more  than  human  skill  or  human 
intellect.  No  other  day  in  the  calendar  of  holidays  brings  such  pleasure 
to  the  pioneer  as  Old  Settlers'  Day.  The  remnant  that  remains  in  Stark 
County  gather  with  their  descendants  and  make  this  a  reminiscent  day. 
With  many  it  is  Hail!  and  Farewell.  Ah,  Time;  thou  rogue! 

"How  few  are  left  to  greet  me,  how  few  are  left  to  know, 

Who  played  with  me  upon  the  green  but  sixty  years  ago." 


MRS.  MILES  A.  FULLER 


MRS.  MARTHA  PIERCE 


MRS.  A.  M.  LEGG 


MRS.  SARAH  PROUT 


PIONEER  SCHOOLS  AND  PIONEER  TEACHERS 


_S?\ 


HE  first  school  taught  in  the  town  of  Toulon 
was  taught  by  John  W.  Henderson,  in  the  John 
Pryor  cabin,  that  stood  where  the  Congregational 
parsonage  now  stands.  This  school  commenced 
in  the  winter  of  1 842.  It  was  not  a  graded 
school;  scholars  of  all  ages  were  admitted.  The 
scholarship  of  the  applicants  was  never  ques- 
tioned. Reading,  writing,  geography,  grammar, 
arithmetic  and  spelling  were  taught.  Through 
the  mists  of  fifty  years  I  can  see  the  rosy-faced 
boys  and  girls  standing  by  the  huge  fireplace, 
which  gave  out  such  generous  heat  after  the 
enormous  logs  had  lain  upon  their  ruddy  bank 

from  hours  early  in  the  morning,  and  sent  up  such  a  glow  of  welcome,  as 
these  scholars  came  trooping  in  after  a  walk  through  the  snow.  One 
would  suppose  that  a  mile  walk  through  the  snow  would  serve  to  tame 
these  boys,  but  not  so.  The  ice  was  hardly  melted  from  their  faces  until 
they  were  ready  for  fun,  and  the  teacher  tried  in  vain  to  subdue  the 
general  merriment  caused  by  their  pranks.  "Special  pleadings"  had  no 
effect,  threatenings  were  of  no  avail,  and  sometimes  the  scholars  intimated 
to  the  teacher  that  if  he  insisted  upon  such  rigid  discipline,  they  would 
set  him  outside  the  cabin  and  take  in  the  latch  string  and  compel  him  to 
plead  for  mercy.  Mr.  Henderson  thought  at  such  times  that  he  had 
mistaken  his  calling,  and  this  was  the  first  and  last  school  he  taught. 

A  row  of  benches  was  set  around  the  sides  of  the  cabin  on  which  sat 
the  large  scholars;  in  the  center  sat  the  "little  tots,"  who  set  the  children 
of  larger  growth  an  example  of  good  behavior.  Carry  me  back,  Mem- 
ory, over  these  vanished  years!  I  would  not  forget  one  form  that  sat  on 
the  rude  benches.  One  of  the  pioneer  customs  was  to  close  the  school 
in  the  evening  with  a  general  spelling  class.  This  was  royal  fun  for  those 
who  "went  up"  with  every  word  they  spelled.  At  one  time  the  entire 
school  had  violated  some  rule  and  the  teacher  announced  that  he  would 


punish  them  at  the  close  of  the  school.  He  commenced  at  the  head  of  the 
spelling  class  and  rapped  the  hand  of  each  offender  several  times  with  a 
ruler.  He  kept  on  administering  the  same  chastisement  until  he  reached 
the  foot  of  the  class;  no  one  was  exempt,  as  all  had  been  engaged  in 
perpetrating  the  joke. 

The  teacher  of  the  pioneer  school  was  a  resident  of  Toulon  for  many 
years;  held  offices  of  trust  and  was  one  of  the  best  county  officers  Stark 
county  ever  had.  Mr.  Henderson  now  lives  in  Cedar  Rapids,  Iowa, 
surrounded  by  all  the  luxury  wealth  can  bring  into  any  home.  He  is 
nearly  eighty  years  of  age,  and  he  has  lived  to  verify  the  promise:  "In  the 
evening  it  shall  be  light."  This  veteran  wears  the  regimentals  of  the 
Democratic  party,  and  it  is  said  he  keeps  the  armor  exceedingly  bright. 

In  this,  the  second  chapter  of  my  school  history,  I  shall  deal  with  the 
Drummond  school,  which  for  crude  methods  eclipsed  all  others,  and  surely 
no  other  teacher  known  to  the  writer  had  such  a  varied  career  as  had  the 
subject  of  this  sketch.  In  the  summer  of  1  843,  W.  W.  Drummond  built 
a  small  frame  house  on  the  corner  lot  where  Mrs.  Minot  Silliman's  home 
now  stands.  This  house  contained  three  rooms.  It  was  built  in  the 
cheapest  way  possible.  It  faced  the  north,  and  the  main  room  in  the 
house  was  used  for  a  schoolroom  by  day,  a  sitting  room  during  the 
evening,  a  sleeping  room  at  night.  This  school  was  a  "select"  school  and 
Mr.  Drummond  charged  one  dollar  a  month  per  capita,  with  high  tragedy 
and  low  comedy  thrown  in.  This  room  was  warmed  by  a  fireplace  over 
which  was  a  rough  mantel-piece,  upon  which  lay  a  well-worn  copy  of 
"The  Statutes  of  Illinois,"  for  be  it  known  W.  W.  Drummond  was 
already  an  aspirant  for  judicial  honors,  and  later  became  one  of  the  lead- 
ing lawyers  of  the  county,  notwithstanding  his  scholarship  was  very  im- 
perfect; in  grammar  especially  so.  As  I  said,  the  schoolroom  was  used 
for  a  sleeping  room,  and  if  the  scholars  were  so  unfortunate  as  to  arrive 
before  the  camping  ground  was  cleared,  he  called  to  his  wife, — or  rather 
slave, — in  tones  that  did  not  indicate  a  very  serene  temper,  to  clear  the 
room  of  all  the  trappings  not  usually  found  in  a  schoolroom. 

Mr.  Drummond  had  a  strange  fancy  for  great  names,  his  eldest  daugh- 
ter bore  the  beautiful  name  of  "America  Virginia;"  the  second  daughter 

10 


was  "Austria  Vienna;"  the  third  was  "Artemesia  Victorine;"  the  son 
was  "Americus  Vespucci;"  the  infant  in  the  cradle  was  "Alwilda 
Viola."  In  thunder  tones  he  would  call  to  America  Virginia  to  go  and 
look  after  Alwilda  Viola  and  tell  Austria  Vienna  to  go  and  play  with 
Americus  Vespucci.  I  mention  these  names  as  no  play  is  complete  with- 
out the  names  of  the  actors. 

But  to  return  to  the  school  proper.  Mr.  Drummond  was  in  the 
habit  of  setting  the  older  scholars  to  work  and  it  was  nothing  unusual  for 
two  or  three  different  groups  of  small  children  to  be  reading  or  reciting 
to  as  many  different  teachers,  and  you  may  readily  imagine  the  confusion, 
and  in  the  mean  while  the  remainder  of  the  school  were  trying  to  rivet  their 
attention  upon  their  books,  and  Mr.  Drummond  having  slipped  his  law 
book  from  the  mantel,  with  his  back  to  the  school,  was  trying  to  digest  a 
page  of  legal  lore. 

What  would  the  young  people  of  today  think  of  these  environments? 
Yet  it  can  be  said  with  truth  that  many  thought  these  pioneer  scholars 
better  equipped  for  the  battle  of  life  than  those  who  came  here  later  from 
the  schools  of  New  England  to  educate  and  civilize  our  western  boys  and 
girls. 

After  several  years  of  successful  practice  in  his  profession,  Mr.  Drum- 
mond went  to  Washington,  D.  C.,  and  later  was  appointed  United 
States  Judge  of  Utah,  but  this  man  of  rare  natural  ability,  of  fine  personal 
appearance  and  fine  presence,  was  wholly  destitute  of  moral  principle,  and 
he  lost  this  fine  position  through  dishonest  and  immoral  practices  and 
finally  died  in  a  saloon  in  Chicago.  He  had  long  since  forsaken  the  wife 
of  his  youth,  who  had  shared  all  the  struggles  of  his  early  life,  and  he  was 
recreant  to  every  sacred  trust.  A  saloon  was  a  fitting  place  for  such  a 
career  to  come  to  a  close. 

Soon  after  the  completion  of  our  first  Court  House,  Miss  Susan  Gill 
taught  a  select  school  in  one  of  the  jury  rooms.  Miss  Gill  had  just  arrived 
in  our  town  from  Newark,  N.  J.,  and  she  introduced  many  methods  which 
were  new  to  our  pioneer  teachers.  Some  are  still  here  who  remember  that 
it  was  in  this  school  that  they  made  their  first  elocutionary  effort.  The 
Friday  afternoon  "Rhetoricals"  were  held  in  the  Court  Room,  giving  the 


11 


Of 

.ssas. 


parents  and  friends  of  the  scholars  an  opportunity  to  judge  of  the  advance- 
ment made  from  week  to  week.  The  first  burst  of  eloquence  came  from 
the  lips  of  many  an  aspirant  for  oratorical  distinction  during  those  days. 
Miss  Gill  was  a  natural  teacher,  and  soon  found  her  way  into  the  hearts 
of  her  scholars.  She  had  the  best  of  government,  yet  was  always  kind. 
After  she  closed  her  school  she  became  the  happy  wife  of  Stephen  W. 
Eastman,  but  only  a  few  years  more  of  life  were  given  to  her,  and  she 
died,  regretted  by  all  who  knew  her.  As  I  stood  by  the  lonely  grave  of 
this  faithful  teacher  my  heart  vowed  allegiance  to  her  memory,  and  heaven 
seemed  nearer  after  she  "passed  within  the  gates." 

The  brick  schoolhouse  which  occupied  the  ground  where  the  resi- 
dence of  Pierson  Miller  was  afterwards  built,  was  completed  in  the  spring 
of  1  847.  This  was  a  district  school,  and  Thomas  J.  Henderson  was  the 
first  teacher.  The  building  was  roomy  and  comfortable  and  every 
available  seat  was  occupied.  T.  J.  Henderson's  popularity  among  the 
young  people  of  our  town,  who  largely  composed  his  school,  was  already 
established — it  was  deep-rooted — and,  as  a  rule,  the  scholars  had  too 
much  regard  for  their  teacher  to  disobey  him;  hence  this  was  an  orderly 
school.  In  addition  to  the  usual  studies  taught  in  our  schools  of  that 
day  was  added  Modern  and  Ancient  History.  The  latter  was  used  by 
the  reading  class  instead  of  "The  English  Reader"  used  in  the  first 
schools.  Being  placed  at  the  head  of  this  school  was  T.  J.  Henderson's 
first  promotion,  and  he  has  been  on  the  top  grade  ever  since.  I  do  not 
know  that  he  learned  any  military  tactics  here,  as  this  school  was  far  too 
peaceable  to  ever  hint  of  war;  political  intrigues  were  an  unknown 
quantity  in  these  primitive  days,  yet  somehow  his  greatness  was  first 
developed  here,  and  after  four  years  of  war  and  twenty  years  in  Congress, 
I  feel  sure  he  looks  back  with  pleasure  to  those  days  when  life  with  its 
vast  possibilities  lay  before  him,  without  even  the  memory  of  a  sorrow. 

After  T.  J.  Henderson  closed  his  school  David  Risdon,  of  Lafayette, 
taught  here  for  several  years  and  finally  went  to  Oregon  to  "grow  up 
with  the  country."  His  successor  was  James  B.  Lewis.  Mr.  Lewis 
ranked  high  as  a  teacher,  and  his  character  was  irreproachable,  but  he 
died  before  he  had  completed  his  last  term,  and  Oliver  White,  now  of 

12 


Peoria,  was  employed  as  a  teacher,  with  Miss  Almira  Hubbard,  now 
the  wife  of  H.  M.  Hall,  of  Lincoln,  Kansas,  as  his  assistant.  I  dare  not 
say  much  about  Mr.  White  for  fear  he  might  recognize  my  "Norn  de 
plume"  and  get  after  me  with  his  sharp  pen  and  lacerate  my  feelings. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  during  his  administration  the  school  lost  none  of  its 
former  popularity. 

Last,  but  not  least,  in  this  galaxy  of  competent  and  successful  teachers 
who  taught  in  "the  Brick"  was  Charles  Meyers,  now  of  Peoria.  May  his 
shadow  never  grow  less. 

Miss  Selina  Booth  was  a  pioneer  teacher  who  deserves  more  than  a 
passing  notice,  not  alone  for  her  excellent  qualities  of  mind  and  character, 
but  for  the  length  of  time  she  was  identified  with  the  educational  interests 
of  our  town.  The  exact  date  of  her  coming  is  not  clear  in  my  mind,  yet 
it  was  as  early  as  1  849. 

On  the  brow  of  the  hill  of  West  Main  street  stood  the  home  of  Royal 
Arnold.  In  this  unpretentious  dwelling,  Miss  Booth  commenced  her 
successful  career  as  a  teacher  in  the  Toulon  schools.  The  little  remnant 
remaining  of  those  who  occupied  a  seat  in  this  schoolroom  still  takes 
pleasure  in  testifying  to  her  sterling  worth.  Her  virtues  stand  out  clearer 
as  other  memories  grow  dim.  All  the  characteristics  essential  to  the  mak- 
ing of  a  good  teacher  seemed  centered  in  Miss  Booth.  During  the 
months  that  this  school  was  doing  such  good  work  despite  the  unfavorable 
surroundings,  the  people  of  our  town  were  discussing  the  possibility  and 
advisability  of  building  a  Seminary.  This  conclusion  culminated  in  the 
erection  of  a  two-story  brick  building,  which  at  that  time  was  considered 
a  fine  structure,  and  it  was  a  proud  day  for  all  concerned  when  Miss 
Booth,  with  her  army  of  scholars,  took  possession  of  the  Toulon  Seminary. 
This  building  is  now  used  as  a  carriage  shop — Clay  Bradley  owning  the 
property — yet  I  am  told  that  many  autographs  are  still  to  be  seen  on  the 
old  walls  and  are  silent  reminders  of  many  scholars  whose  school  work 
was  left  unfinished. 

Today,  as  I  write  the  name  of  this  good  woman,  thoughts  of  those 
days  come  to  me  like  the  notes  of  a  half-forgotten  song,  and  I  find  myself 
listening  for  other  voices  that  mingled  with  hers  in  the  good  old  days  when 

13 


it  took  so  little  to  make  the  heart  glad.  After  Miss  Booth  resigned  her 
position  in  Toulon,  she  married  Mr.  Newell,  of  Farmington,  111.,  and  that 
is  still  her  home. 

Successors  to  Miss  Booth's  honors  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  N.  F.  Atkins. 
This  worthy  pair  came  here  direct  from  New  England,  and  it  was  evident 
at  a  glance  that  the  very  process  that  had  fitted  them  to  fill  an  exalted 
position  in  the  world  of  letters  had  unfitted  them  for  the  common  duties 
of  life,  and  their  helplessness  outside  of  the  schoolroom  was  really  pathetic. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Atkins  had  spent  the  best  years  of  their  lives  in  hard  study; 
they  had  mastered  the  classics,  the  higher  mathematics  and  the  sciences, 
yet  consummate  as  were  their  abilities,  unselfish  their  purposes,  failure  was 
written  on  all  they  did.  They  looked  as  if  they  had  been  fed  on  the  dead 
languages  and  "The  Blue  Laws."  Two  sons  blessed  their  union,  and 
they  gave  promise  of  growing  up  full  of  western  vim.  Their  antics 
astonished  their  mother,  who  with  all  her  knowledge,  failed  to  solve  these 
strange  problems  by  any  known  process  of  philosophy,  mathematics  or 
astronomy,  yet  she  did  discover  later  that  they  were  not  "stars."  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Atkins  had  many  warm  friends  who  aided  them  in  their  misfortunes, 
and  after  Mr.  Atkins  was  obliged  to  abandon  teaching  on  account  of  ill- 
health,  they  gave  him  repeated  evidence  of  their  sympathy  and  esteem. 
But  disease  did  its  cruel  work  and  Mr.  Atkins,  the  ripe  scholar,  the  faith- 
ful teacher  and  Christian  gentleman,  was  laid  to  rest.  Mrs.  Atkins 
returned  to  her  .New  England  home  and  left  an  unmarked  grave  in  our 
cemetery,  and  years  after,  the  friends  and  scholars  of  these  worthy  people 
erected  a  monument  to  the  memory  of  this  pioneer  teacher. 


14 


DR.  THOMAS  HALL 


MARTIN  SHALLENBERGER 


MINOTT  SILLIMAN 


MRS.  C.   K.  STICK.NEY 


THE  LAST  SUPPER 

HOSE  who  knew  Oliver  Whitaker  as  early  as 
1  838  will  recall  a  pioneer  cabin  set  down  by  a 
native  grove,  where  the  grand  old  oaks  gave 
shade  for  the  happy  children  and  shelter  to  the 
birds  which  furnished  music  to  this  music-loving 
family.  The  bright  wood  fire  in  the  spacious 
fire-place  and  the  happy  faces  made  sunlight  on 
the  walls.  A  few  rude  flower  beds  bordered  the 
path  leading  up  to  the  cabin  door;  these  were 
made  by  the  busy  hands  of  a  loving  mother,  and 
the  evening-beauties  and  the  holly-hocks  that 
bloomed  there  were  the  admiration  of  the  chil- 
dren of  the  pioneers,  and  no  exotic  in  our  day 

can  be  prized  as  were  these  flowers.  In  the  summer  of  1  843  this  home 
was  exchanged  for  one  in  Toulon  where  the  friends  of  today  have  known 
and  honored  the  deceased — here  has  been  buried  many  an  expectation; 
here  many  a  joy  has  perished  in  his  grasp,  yet  he  was  brave  and  uncom- 
plaining, no  adverse  fate  or  warring  destiny  could  rob  him  of  these  traits. 
Seldom  has  a  home  been  established  in  the  west  which  furnished  more 
generous  hospitality  and  friendly  cheer  than  did  the  Whitaker  home. 
Here  the  poor  and  unfortunate  always  found  a  friend,  the  sorrowing 
sympathy.  The  recipients  of  these  favors  were  never  questioned.  "If 
hungry,  he  gave  him  food;  if  thirsty,  he  gave  him  drink;  if  sick  he  visited 
him" — he  squared  his  life  by  the  Golden  Rule  and  emphasized  it  by 
example. 

No  one  who  was  present  at  the  last  supper  at  this  old  home  will 
forget  the  pathetic  words  spoken  by  the  host.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whitaker 
were  about  to  leave  for  California,  the  home  was  sold  and  the  historic 
belongings  of  the  interior  had  been  advertised  for  sale,  when  Mrs. 
Whitaker  conceived  the  plan  of  having  a  farewell  feast — Mrs.  Blood  was 
here  to  assist  her  mother  in  carrying  out  the  plans. 

After  the  guests  were  seated  at  the  table  Mr.  Whitaker  turned  to 


17 


The  Old  Whitaker  Homestead  in  1878 


Hon.  M.  A.  Fuller  and  said,  "Miles,  this  is  the  last  supper,  will  you  ask 
the  blessing?"  Mr.  Fuller's  voice  trembled  with  emotion  as  he  asked  the 
Giver  of  all  good  gifts  to  be  with  this  little  company  of  friends  gathered 
at  this  hospitable  board  for  the  last  time.  Mr.  Turner,  who  was  now 
very  near  the  line  that  divides  night  from  morning,  was  present  and  it  was 
his  last  visit. 

The  Old  Settlers  will  remember  their  venerable  President  as  he  pre- 
sided last  year — his  daughter,  Mrs.  E.  H.  Phelps,  of  Kansas  City,  sat  by 
his  side.  He  said  to  a  friend  who  congratulated  him  upon  the  occasion: 
"No  one  can  tell  how  much  stronger  I  felt  after  my  dear  girl  came,"  and 
as  I  looked  at  them  I  was  reminded  of  the  beautiful  lines  of  Scott: 

18 


"Come   forth,   old   man!      A  daughter's   side 
Is  now  a  fitting  place  for  thee. 
When  time  has  quelled  the  oak's  bold  pride, 
The  youthful  tendril  yet  may  hide 
The  rum  of  the  parent  tree." 

Mr.  Whitaker  was  a  kind,  unselfish  father,  and  if  at  any  time  he 
seemed  severe  in  his  discipline  it  was  the  outcome  of  a  sincere  desire  for 
the  good  of  his  children — he  had  old-fashioned  ideas  of  parental  govern- 
ment. During  his  last  year  it  became  difficult  for  him  to  write,  yet  his 
children  have  abundant  evidence  of  his  untiring  devotion  to  them  in  the 
carefully  written  letters  penned  after  his  failing  sight  rendered  this  service 
of  love  almost  impossible.  I  often  found  him  thus  employed  as  I  entered 
his  office  in  the  morning,  which  was  the  only  time  he  was  capable  of  any 
exertion;  his  afternoons  were  given  mostly  to  sleep.  He  often  alluded  to 
his  bodily  weakness  and  would  add:  "But  I  cannot  afford  to  disappoint 
the  children,  and  they  will  be  looking  for  a  letter."  When  his  feeble 
arms  would  no  longer  draw  them  to  his  breast  upon  which  they  had  leaned 
so  long,  he  wrapped  them  in  the  softer  folds  of  his  love  and  fell  asleep. 
The  sun  of  his  life  went  down  but  the  star  of  his  example  lives,  and  they 
are  dull  scholars  indeed  who  learn  nothing  from  a  long  life  well  lived. 

On  that  cold  autumn  morning  when  he  came  to  say  goodbye  before 
leaving  for  Florida  I  well  knew  I  should  hear  the  sound  of  his  familiar 
voice  no  more,  and  hard  was  it  to  conceal  the  fact  from  him.  And  he, 
too,  felt  keen  sorrow  at  parting  with  old  friends,  yet  he  longed  for  the 
balmy  air  of  that  kindly  clime  where  the  perfume  of  flowers  makes  "De- 
cember as  pleasant  as  May."  After  a  few  months  the  tamed  lightning 
conveyed  the  sad  message  that  he  who  had  so  lately  been  with  us  was 
gone.  The  worn-out  body  called  for  rest,  the  shattered  mind  for  repose, 
and  all  that  was  needed  came. 

"We  will  not  say,  we  cannot  say 
That  he  is  dead — he  is  just  away." 

He  entered  the  dark  valley  in  the  faith  that  there  is  light  beyond,  and 
when  the  bright  lustre  of  an  active  life  is  dimmed  by  age  we  can  find 

19 


solace  in  the  thought  that  there  is  found  the  youth  of  immortality.  It  has 
been  said  that  "the  record  of  a  life  is  its  best  eulogy" — that  the  memory 
of  a  good  man  is  its  most  lasting  epitaph.  All  that  is  mortal  of  this  dear 
friend  lies  in  our  beautiful  cemetery,  adjoining  the  village  where  he  lived 
so  long,  and  near  by  the  people  he  knew  and  loved  so  well.  Loving  hands 
will  strew  flowers  over  his  grave.  These  will  fade  and  wither,  but  the 
memory  of  his  kind  deeds  will  live. 

The  morning  sun  that  lifts  its  head  above  the  eastern  hills  in  dazzling 
beauty,  lacks  the  grandeur  of  the  setting  sun  that  sinks  to  rest  behind  the 
evening  clouds.  Eighty-nine  years  ago  today  Oliver  Whitaker  was  born 
and  I  lay  this  imperfect  tribute  as  a  memorial  wreath  upon  these  vanished 
years. 


20 


OLIVER  WH1TAKER 


MRS.  CATHERINE  WHITAKER 


DR.  WILLIAM  CHAMBERLAIN 


MRS.  DR.  CHAMBERLAIN 


THE  TOULON  BAPTIST  CHURCH 

S  the  new  Baptist  church  nears  completion  and 
the  expectant  members  of  that  organization  are 
impatiently  waiting  to  occupy  the  new  edifice, 
my  mind  has  been  busy  with  the  past,  and  the 
editor  of  the  News  has  asked  me  to  write  some 
reminiscence  for  the  columns  of  his  paper.  Feel- 
ing sure  that  there  are  many  still  living  who  feel 
an  interest  in  those  who  constituted  the  member- 
ship and  congregation  forty  years  ago,  I  have 
concluded  to  give  a  pen  picture  of  the  church 
as  it  appeared  to  me  at  that  time.  Elder  Brin- 
kerhoff  of  New  Jersey  had  been  chosen  pastor, 
and  stood  on  tiptoe  behind  an  enormous  pulpit, 

trying  to  see  the  congregation,  and  the  congregation  were  equally  anxious 
to  see  the  preacher,  yet  all  that  was  visible  to  the  naked  eye  was  his 
towering  intellect. 

After  reading  the  twenty-first  chapter  of  St.  John,  he  took  for  his 
text  the  last  part  of  the  seventeenth  verse:  "Jesus  saith  unto  him,  feed  my 
sheep."  No  carpet  was  to  be  seen  save  a  narrow  strip  behind  the  pulpit 
for  the  preacher  to  stand  upon,  to  drown  the  sound  of  his  feet — for  some 
ministers  will  preach  with  their  feet.  The  aisles  were  about  four  inches 
lower  than  the  pews.  The  latter  had  small  doors,  and  these  doors  were 
fastened  by  some  sort  of  a  fixture  needing  an  expert  to  open  them,  and  it 
was  nothing  unusual  to  see  people  from  the  rural  districts,  not  familiar  with 
the  city  airs,  standing  amazed  at  this  strange  combination,  and  finally 
striding  over  the  door  and  seating  themselves  in  the  pew;  but  later  the 
janitor  was  instructed  to  open  all  these  doors  before  the  service  began,  and 
thus  obviate  this  difficulty.  At  a  still  later  date  the  doors  were  removed 
and  the  aisles  were  raised  to  a  level  with  the  pews,  doing  away  with  the 
obstruction,  so  that  the  custom  of  coming  into  the  pews  on  "all  fours" 
became  obsolete.  For  several  years  after  Elder  Brinkerhoff  returned  to 
his  native  state  the  ministers  seemed  to  be  selected  with  reference  to  the 
height  of  the  pulpit,  and  we  had  a  series  of  long,  lean  men. 


23 


At  the  time  of  which  I  write,  the  Baptist  bell  was  the  only  church 
bell  in  our  town,  and  the  first  Sabbath  it  called  the  worshipers  together 
was  quite  an  event  in  the  history  of  the  people.     It  was  not  a  bell  such 
as  we  hear  in  the  cathedrals.      It  was  not  silver-tongued,  but  its  tones 
were  always  sweet  to  those  who  gathered  at  its  call  in  the  old  brick  church, 
and,  as  it  lay  silent  amid  the  debris  after  the  church  was  in  ashes,  I  looked 
upon  it  with  feelings  of  tender  regret,   much   as   I  look  upon  an  old 
friend  whose  voice  is  hushed  forever.    This  bell  has  been  called  "a  cracked 
bell,"  "a  nuisance."     Perhaps  these  epithets  were  deserved,  but  do  we 
speak  thus  of  a  friend  after  the  sweet  mellow  voice  of  youth  gives  way  to 
the  harsh  and  broken  voice  of  age?     This  bell  will  never  disturb  us  any 
more.     It  has  tolled  its  last  requiem  for  the  dead.     It  has  said  "Come" 
to  the  old  church  for  the  last  time.     The  choir  occupied  the  gallery  on 
the  north  end  of  the  church.     Judson  Brinkerhoff  was  the  organist  and 
James  A.    Henderson   played   an   accompaniment   on   the  violin.      The 
singers  were  Amos  P.  Gill,  Jerome  B.  Thomas,  Mr.  Carpenter,  Henry 
Greenwood,    Hugh   Y.    Godfry,    Miss   Ruth   A.    Meyers,    Miss   Mary 
Whittaker,  Miss  Mary  J.   Harris  and  Miss  Abby  Gardener.      Messrs. 
Carpenter  and  Greenwood  were  transient  residents  of  our  town — both  fine 
musicians.     They  were  civil  engineers  and  were  engaged  in  surveying  the 
"Air  line  railroad."     A  few  years  later  Mr.  Carpenter  took  a  sea  voyage 
for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  and  died  at  sea.      Mr.   Greenwood  was 
murdered  in  New  Mexico,  Amos  P.  Gill  long  since  passed  from  sight, 
yet  the  rich  tones  of  his  bass  are  remembered  by  many  still  living  here. 
Ten  years  ago  James  A.  Henderson  passed  to  the  "summer  land"  within 
sound  of  the  old  church  bell.    Jerome  B.  Thomas  is  a  resident  of  Dayton, 
Ohio.      Hugh  Y.  Godfry  lives  at  Lake  Geneva,  and  still  gladdens  the 
hearts  of  his  Toulon  friends  by  an  occasional  visit,  but  he  is  such  a  good 
Baptist  that  nothing  less  than  a  lake  can  satisfy  his  craving  for  water. 
Miss  Ruth  A.  Meyers,  now  Mrs.  Turner,  is  an  honored  member  of  Tou- 
lon society,  but  sings  the  songs  of  Zion  in  the  M.  E.  church.      Miss 
Mary  Whittaker  married  E.   H.   Phelps,  now  of  Kansas  City.      Miss 
Abby  Gardener  married  Dr.   Kitchen  of  Rockford,  111.      Miss  Harris 
moved  from  here  many  years  ago  and  her  whereabouts  are  unknown  to  the 


24 


writer.  The  officers  of  the  church  were  Benj.  Packer,  Stephen  Eastman, 
Robert  Robb,  Luther  Geer,  deacons;  Oliver  Gardener,  church  clerk; 
Jacob  Wagner,  janitor.  Jacob  Wagner  and  his  good  wife  Gertrude  kept 
the  lamps  trimmed  and  burning.  All  the  officers  above  mentioned  are 
sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just  in  our  cemetery,  excepting  Deacon  Packer, 
who  is  still  with  us,  and  is  still  busy  with  the  interests  of  the  church  of  his 
choice.  Age  cannot  abate  his  zeal  or  cool  his  ardor.  His  devotion  to 
the  Master's  work  is  surely  worthy  of  commendation.  This  church  has 
passed  through  some  fierce  conflicts,  but  those  who  have  never  been  in 
battle  know  little  about  wearing  the  armor.  As  devout  worshipers 
gathered  there  as  ever  knelt  at  a  shrine.  At  this  time  the  membership 
numbered  about  seventy,  the  congregation  twice  that  number. 

One  custom  of  these  early  days  of  which  I  must  speak,  was  that  of 
the  congregation  rising  and  turning  around  in  the  pews  so  as  to  face  the 
choir,  which,  as  I  said  before,  occupied  the  gallery.  Perhaps  this  fact 
could  be  accomplished  with  far  less  embarrassment  now  than  in  those  days 
when  it  was  the  fashion  for  the  ladies  to  wear  exceedingly  large  hoops,  so 
large  that  if  by  chance  more  than  two  ladies  were  seated  in  one  pew,  the 
matter  of  facing  about  was  accomplished  with  much  difficulty  and  serious 
results  were  liable  to  follow.  These  tragic  movements  had  to  be  enacted 
three  times  during  each  service,  and  those  seated  near  the  gallery  were 
obliged  to  stretch  their  necks  like  cranes  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  choir. 

At  no  time  in  the  history  of  this  church  has  the  choir  enjoyed  such  a 
reputation  for  first-class  music  as  in  those  early  days  of  its  existence,  the 
credit  of  which  in  great  measure  may  be  accorded  to  Mrs.  Dr.  Chamber- 
lain, who  was  at  that  time  a  devout  member  of  this  church,  and  it  was 
by  her  personal  effort  that  the  best  musical  talent  of  the  town  was  secured. 

All  that  remains  here  today  of  those  constituting  the  membership  of 
the  church  forty  years  ago  are  Benjamin  Packer  and  wife,  John  Berfield 
and  wife,  Mrs.  Cynthia  Stickney,  Mrs.  Stephen  Eastman,  Mrs.  Luther 
Geer,  Mrs.  Miles  A.  Fuller,  Mrs.  Emily  Culbertson  and  Mrs.  P.  M. 
Blair. 

"Old  things  have  passed  away,  and  behold  all  things  have  become 


25 


Q 


AN  OLD  HOUSE  GONE 

Written  upon  seeing  "The  Old  Home"  torn  down,  Feb.  22,  1  898. 

HIS  week  witnessed  the  demolition  of  one  of  the 
old  landmarks  of  Toulon,  being  none  other  than 
the  old  homstead  of  Dr.  Thomas  Hall.  The 
house  was  built  in  1  848  by  Dr.  Hall  and  stood 
near  the  present  home  of  Dr.  W.  T.  Hall,  on 
South  Franklin  street,  being  moved  to  another 
part  of  the  lot  upon  the  building  of  the  latter. 
It  was  a  very  fine  building  for  those  days  and 
was  much  admired  by  the  pioneers  and  by 
travellers  who  chanced  to  pass.  One  noticeable 
feature  was  the  long  windows,  reaching  to  the 
floor,  something  never  before  seen  in  this  part  of 
the  country.  The  contractor  who  built  the  house 

was  Charles  Johnson.     He  was  assisted  by  Mr.  Wilbur  of  Lafayette  and 

Luther  Geer  did  the  mason  work. 


Office  of  Dr.  Thomas  Hall,  built  in  1847. 

27 


Homes,  like  individuals,  grow  old  and  cease  to  be  either  useful  or 
ornamental,  yet  it  is  a  pathetic  sight  to  see  them  demolished.  That  a  home 
once  full  of  life  and  gayety  can  become  a  heap  of  debris  is  food  for  mem- 
ory and  for  tears.  As  a  broken  harp,  which  can  never  again  respond  to 
the  touch  of  a  gentle  hand,  although  silent,  reminds  us  of  melodies  which 
once  wafted  us  into  realms  of  enchantment,  so  in  the  ruins  of  an  old  home 
we  read  stories  of  a  past  too  sacred  to  be  written,  memories  too  precious 
to  be  forgotten.  Here  loved  ones  have  been  dressed  for  the  bridal  and  the 
tomb.  Here  were  heard  the  last  words  of  a  mother. 

The  designer  and  builder  of  this  home  is  gone  and  the  last  vestige  of 
his  work  obliterated.  The  windows  through  which  glad  faces  looked  out 
upon  what  was  to  them  a  world  of  brightness  have  served  their  purpose. 
The  floors  will  never  again  resound  to  the  nimble  tread  of  youth,  or  the 
faltering  steps  of  age.  The  old  home  with  its  cherished  memories  is  gone 
— gone  with  its  cherished  plans  rounded  to  completion — gone  with  its 
festivities  and  its  mirth.  Old  home,  goodbye. 


28 


THE  OLD  SEMINARY 


-SS 


HE  building  known  as  "The  Toulon  Seminary" 
was  built  over  fifty  years  ago.  Buildings  in  those 
days  were  not  reared  with  the  dispatch  they  are 
now — and  when  it  was  completed  after  months 
of  continued  work,  the  scholars  were  delighted  as 
they  took  possession  of  the  new  Seminary  and 
were  assigned  comfortable  seats,  with  desks,  and 
were  given  ample  light  and  warmth,  of  which 
they  had  such  a  scant  supply  in  the  crowded 
rooms  just  vacated.  If  the  reader  will  go  with 
me  in  imagination  into  the  High  School,  we  will 
see  what  we  can  find.  Mr.  Atkins,  who  is  the 
principal,  has  charge  of  this  room,  and  after  a 

hard  day's  work  has  stepped  down  into  the  lower  room  to  see  how  Mrs. 
Atkins  is  getting  on  in  her  department.  The  janitor,  Jacob  Wagner,  is 
busy  putting  the  room  in  order  for  the  next  day,  so  we  will  take  this 
opportunity  to  look  about.  First,  we  will  go  to  the  little  table  that  stands 
at  one  end  of  the  room,  on  which  we  find  several  books.  There  are 
marginal  notes  in  some  of  them,  showing  that  the  teacher's  opinion  is  not 
altogether  in  harmony  with  the  author's.  Colburn's  Intellectual  and 
Adams'  Written  Arithmetic,  Butler's  Grammar  and  Mitchell's  Geography 
are  on  this  table;  first,  second  and  third  Eclectic  Readers  are  here;  Web- 
ster's Spelling-book  with  the  words  so  nicely  divided  into  syllables  is  here. 
A  Bible  or  Testament  is  on  every  desk;  we  open  one  of  these  and  on  the 
first  page  we  find  the  name  of  Benjamin  Williams — this  name  was  long 
since  cut  in  marble.  We  pass  on  to  the  next  desk  and  here  we  find  the 
name  of  Henry  Perry  written  in  bold  characters  in  Butler's  Grammar, 
and  just  below  we  read  this  warning  to  evil  doers:  "Steal  not  this  book, 
for  fear  of  shame,  for  in  it  stands  the  owner's  name."  On  another  desk 
the  books  record  the  fact  that  they  are  the  property  of  Nathaniel  Wright, 
others  on  the  same  desk  belong  to  William  W.  Wright  (now  county  judge 
of  Stark  county).  Only  a  little  in  advance  of  this,  we  find  the  books 


29 


belonging  to  Wright  Dewey,  whose  name  is  now  inscribed  on  a  marble 
shaft  in  our  "Silent  City,"  and  engrossed  in  the  hearts  of  all  who  knew 
him.  But  we  must  pass  on  without  stopping  at  each  desk,  and  we  will 
return  to  the  little  table  we  just  left  and  search  for  the  roll.  And  here  it 
is.  Oh,  these  names! 

Elizabeth   Perry,  Mary  Whitaker,  Levi  Silliman, 

Emily  Perry,  Delphene   Whitaker,  Edward  Silliman, 

Sarah  Turner,  Walter  T.  Hall,  Addie  Fuller, 

Laura  Ogle,  Andrew  Whitaker,  Willis  Dewey, 

Ellen  Buswell,  Harriet  Dewey,  Martha  Atherton, 

Emma  Hall,  Rebecca  Dewey,  George  Lowman, 

John  Ogle,  Jane    Hall,  Alice  Lowman, 

Sarah  Eastman,  Janette  Scott,  Wright  Dewey, 

Isabella  Pierce,  Diantha  Shinn,  Nathaniel    Wright, 

John   Stickney,  Emily  Shinn,  W.  W.  Wright, 

Sarah  Berfield,  Hattie  Phelps,  Ellen  Lyle, 

Louisa  Hall,  Charley  .Eastman,  Mary  Lyle, 

Jerome  Thomas,  Benjamin  Williams,  Caroline  Brace, 

Mary  Thomas,  Eliza  Stickney,  Mary  Brace, 

Ruth   Thomas,  Harlan   Pierce,  Charley  Brace, 

Henry  Hall,  Will  Hazen,  Lizzie  McBride, 

Julius  Rhodes,  Olive  Bennett,  Samuel   Lowman, 

Henry  Perry,  Rebecca   Pollock,  Annie   Brace, 

Mattie  Cox,  Mary  Cox,  John  Perry. 

Isaac  Whitaker,  Sarah  Cox, 

But  the  janitor  is  waiting  to  turn  the  key  in  the  door,  and  we  must 
lay  down  the  roll  and  leave  many  names  unread,  and  we  will  descend  the 
stairs  and  enter  the  lower  room,  where  Mrs.  Atkins  presides  with  so  much 
dignity.  Here  are  the  copy-books  with  the  copies  written  for  the  next  day. 
Mrs.  Atkins  has  written  these  after  the  restless  scholars  have  gone  to  their 
homes  or  to  their  sports.  Let  us  see  what  she  has  written:  '  Tis  educa- 
tion forms  the  common  minds,  Just  as  the  twig  is  bent  the  tree  inclines." 
Another,  "Truth  crushed  to  earth  will  rise  again,"  and  one  of  the  little 
tots  will  write,  "Many  men  of  many  minds,  many  birds  of  many  kinds." 
The  blackboard  is  full  of  crude  figures  where  the  primary  classes  have  been 
working  in  multiplication,  addition  and  division.  Every  desk  in  this 
room  shows  that  it  has  been  occupied  during  the  day.  Broken  pocket- 
knives,  kite  strings  and  forgotten  dinner  pails  adorn  the  desks.  But  the 
form  of  the  janitor  admonishes  us  to  begone.  Our  next  visit  to  this  school 

30 


is  during  Professor  Thorp's  administration,  who  succeeded  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Atkins,  with  Miss  Mary  Perry  as  his  assistant.  Professor  Thorp,  un- 
fortunately for  himself  and  his  school,  possessed  an  ungovernable  temper, 
and  Miss  Perry  soon  tired  of  his  tyranny  and  resigned  her  position,  and 
Miss  Frances  A.  Dewey,  afterwards  Mrs.  James  A.  Henderson,  filled  the 
vacancy.  The  scholars  had  a  great  deal  of  regard  for  the  assistant  and 
very  little  for  the  principal,  and  as  girls  and  boys  have  always  done  they 
took  special  delight  in  annoying  him.  One  very  cold  morning  in  mid- 
winter the  professor  stepped  into  the  upper  room  and  found  "Old 
Boreas"  in  full  possession.  The  windows  were  raised  as  high  as  possible, 
and  the  boys  had  carried  out  the  stove  during  the  night.  There  are  those 
living  here  today  who  assisted  in  this  novel  method  of  cooling  off  the  irate 
professor,  yet  as  they  are  now  gray-headed  men,  occupying  honorable 
positions  in  our  town,  we  will  not  mention  their  names.  After  Professor 
Thorp  left,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B.  G.  Hall  had  charge  of  this  school,  and  later 
Professor  Jones  and  William  Nowlan,  Miss  Robinson  (now  Mrs.  John 
Rhodes),  Miss  Lilly  Beatty,  Mr.  Fellows,  Mr.  Humphrey  taught  here, 
and  doubtless  others  whose  names  we  fail  to  recall.  Here  is  another  en- 
rollment of  names  of  a  later  date  than  those  we  found  on  Mr.  Atkins' 
table : 

Bert  Raymond,  Herbert  Rhodes,  Kate   Rhodes, 

Alice  Raymond,  Heman   Stickney,  Martha  Berfield, 

Sarah  Silliman,  Mary   Berfield,  Matilda  Shallenberger, 

Mary  Silliman,  Ada  Fuller,  Onslow  Shallenberger, 

Clyde  Lyon,  Effie   Lyon,  Pauline  Shallenberger, 

Lizzie  Witter,  Frank  Lyon,  Thomas    Shallenberger, 

Frank  Blair,  Fred   Rhodes,  Gertrude  Henderson, 

Andrew  Stickney,  Frank   Fuller,  Ella  Henderson, 

The  mental  calibre  that  characterizes  these  scholars  is  not  eclipsed  by 
any  modern  school,  and  at  no  time  in  its*  history  were  other  than  com- 
petent teachers  employed.  Years  pass  like  summer  clouds,  and  those 
pupils  who  have  not  finished  their  work  are  men  and  women  each  doing 
their  part  in  the  great  school  of  life.  To  such  as  may  read  this  imperfect 
sketch  of  the  "Old  Brick  Seminary"  I  will  say  that  I  feel  sure  if  the  bricks 
which  comprise  its  walls  could  speak  they  would  tell  a  far  better  story 
than  mine.  They  would  speak  of  youthful  friendships  and  youthful  loves 

31 


— of  pathetic  and  amusing  incidents  all  unknown  to  the  writer.  This  once 
honored  seat  of  learning  is  now  used  as  a  carriage  shop,  yet  so  long  as  the 
old  walls  stand  there  are  men  and  women  who  will  gaze  upon  them  and 
recall  memories  too  sacred  to  be  written . 


The  Old  Seminary  Building 


32 


STARK  COUNTY'S  OLD  JAIL 

HIS  jail  was  built  in  the  year  1845.  The 
mason  work  was  done  by  a  man  named  Ham- 
mond, who  lived  in  Knoxville,  Madison  Winn 
and  David  Guyer  hauled  the  logs  that  lined  the 
interior  of  the  cell  with  an  ox  team,  from  Spoon 
river.  John  W.  Henderson,  now  a  resident  of 
Cedar  Rapids,  Iowa,  was  sheriff  of  Stark  county 
and  Ira  Ward  was  the  first  jailer.  As  soon  as 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ward  were  settled  in  this  prison 
home  they  gave  what  was  then  called  "a  house 
warming."  The  elite  of  this  little  county  were 
present.  Many  of  this  merry  company  "tripped 
the  light  fantastic  toe"  to  the  music  of  the  violin, 

dexterously  handled  by  Israel  Dana.  Mrs.  Ward  was  a  charming  hostess 
and  the  sheriff,  who  was  a  society  favorite,  added  much  to  the  success  of 
the  occasion.  The  iron  bars  across  the  windows  were  well  concealed  by 
curtains  and  there  was  nothing  to  suggest  a  prison.  Were  the  roll  called 
today  as  the  old  jail  is  razed  to  the  ground  I  think  not  more  than  five  of 
that  merry  company  would  respond.  In  1  848  John  Finley  was  elected 
sheriff.  His  successor  was  William  F.  Thomas  of  Wyoming.  Later 
Clinton  Fuller,  Joseph  Blanchard,  Henry  Breese,  Oliver  P.  Emery, 
Elisha  Greenfield,  Frank  Fuller,  Captain  J.  M.  Brown,  Jesse  Likens, 
Samuel  Adams,  Andrew  Galbraith,  William  Hughes  and  Donald  Mur- 
chison.  These  all  served  the  j^v'^,  fff 

county  as  sheriff  during  the  years 
the  old  jail  was  in  use.  During 
the  last  years  that  the  old  build- 
ing was  occupied  no  one  did  as 
much  to  conceal  the  ravages  of 
time  as  did  Herrod  Newland.  It 
was  his  hand  that  planted  and  The  Old  Jail 

trained    the    vines    about    the    porch    that    appear    in    the    picture,    and 


33 


when  the  old  walls  were  torn  down  fragments  of  these  vines 
still  clung  to  the  ruins  as  if  loth  to  let  go,  and  they  whispered  of  "A 
vanished  hand,  and  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still." 


34 


GEN.  THOMAS  J.  HENDERSON 


MRS.  SARAH  HENDERSON 

MOTHER  OF  GEN.  HENDERSON 


SAMUEL  DEWEY 


MISS  TILDEN 

A  PIONEER  SCHOOL  TEACHER 


ADDRESS  OF  WELCOME 

Delivered  by  Mrs.  H.  M.  Blair,  Aug.  3,  1895. 

N  behalf  of  the  Old  Settlers'  Association,  I  ex- 
tend a  hearty  welcome  to  all  who  have  gathered 
here  today.  May  this  be  a  day  of  hand  clasp- 
ing and  good  cheer — a  reminiscent  day.  We 
meet  to  commemorate  the  virtues  and  pay  tribute 
to  the  achievements  of  the  pioneers  of  Stark  and 
adjoining  counties.  We  are  proud  to  recall  their 
names  and  recount  their  noble  deeds.  The  vari- 
ous positions  held  by  the  pioneers  at  the  organi- 
zation of  our  county  are  now  filled  by  other  men, 
and  the  daily  routine  moves  forward  as  if  no  gap 
were  left  by  their  absence,  but  the  record  of  their 
lives  has  passed  into  history  and  has  left  no  blotted 

page.  Only  a  small  remnant  remains  of  those  to  whom  rightfully  belongs 
the  title  of  "Pioneers  of  Stark  county,"  and  from  these  the  eagerness  ot 
youth  has  long  since  departed — the  frost  of  age  has  settled  on  the  brow, 
yet  the  kindly  impulses  of  youth  still  cling  to  the  heart,  and  they  come 
to  us  today 

"Wearing  marks  of  age  and  sorrow, 
As  the  midnight  wears  its  stars." 

My  hand  can  frame  no  fitter  eulogy  than  to  record  the  lessons  these 
pioneers  taught  us  •  by  their  heroic  devotion  to  the  best  interests  of  our 
country.  Their  wealth  lay  in  a  self-reliant  people,  fertile  lands,  fruits  of 
the  earth,  and  flocks  and  herds.  Their  motto  was,  "Dare  to  do  right." 
This  motto  was  not  hand  painted  and  hung  up  in  their  homes,  but  it  was 
engraved  on  their  hearts.  Their  creed  was,  "Smile  at  the  present  and  be 
able  to  see  over  the  wall  of  the  future."  Every  phase  of  life  has  its  com- 
pensations. Nature  had  spread  a  carpet  under  the  feet  of  these  pioneers 
which  surpassed  in  grandeur  anything  ever  wrought  by  a  weaver's  shuttle. 
Violets  as  blue  as  the  sky  of  Italy,  daisies  and  cowslips,  the  silver  and  the 
gold  beautifully  mingled  (16  to  1  ) ,  and  as  the  prairie  plow  laid  broad 


37 


furrows  through  these  play-grounds,  many  a  pathetic  plea  went  up  from 
childish  lips  to  spare  this  carpet  of  flowers,  and  while  this  country  might 
be  a  miniature  wilderness,  the  Great  Artist  had  been  here  long  before 
these  pioneers  set  foot  on  this  soil,  and  he  had  painted  the  landscape  in  a 
fashion  unknown  to  man. 

It  was  here  that  child  life  found  physically  its  widest,  wisest  and 
most  healthful  development.  The  air  was  full  of  sweetness  and  song. 
Nature  had  done  so  much  for  this  country.  The  sturdy  oaks  which  did 
battle  with  the  storms,  stood  like  mammoth  breastworks  to  protect  the 
pioneer's  cabin  from  the  cold  of  winter  and  the  scorching  heat  of  summer, 
and  no  one  thought  of  marring  their  natural  beauty.  It  was  not  neces- 
sary, as  in  our  day,  to  say, 

"O,  woodman,   spare   that   tree; 
Touch  not  a  single  bough!" 

The  feathered  songsters  reveled  in  safety  in  these  giant  branches,  and 
the  weary  pioneer  after  a  day  of  toil  fell  asleep  listening  to  the  song  of  the 
whippoorwill  and  the  nightingale.  No  brass  band  discoursed  sweet  music 
to  the  lonely  pioneer.  A  bass  viol  sadly  out  of  tune  furnished  music  on 
the  Sabbath  for  the  few  who  gathered  to  worship  God  in  the  log  school- 
house,  and  this  viol  was  "like  David's  harp  of  solemn  sound."  When 
these  pioneers  met  they  talked  of  the  future;  now  they  talk  of  the  past. 

Those  who  turn  to  Stark  county  as  the  Mecca  of  their  hopes  read  in 
the  glorious  present  a  sequel  to  the  wisdom  of  its  founders.  They  plan- 
ned well;  and  while  all  did  not  leave  to  their  descendants  broad  acres, 
they  left  unsullied  names.  Justice  was  their  highest  conception  of  duty, 
and  a  verbal  promise  was  as  valid  as  a  note.  These  memories  will  be 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation,  until  they  become  only  a 
sweet  echo  from  a  consecrated  past. 

Many  who  are  with  us  today  have  never  seen  a  pioneer  cabin  in  its 
primitive  beauty,  and  for  such  I  will  endeavor  to  draw  a  pen-picture  of 
an  old  settler's  cabin.  The  cabin  to  which  I  would  lead  you  stood  on  a 
hill.  About  one  hundred  yards  from  the  cabin  was  a  little  ravine — it 
would  be  called  a  slough  in  these  days.  (How  the  language  has  deterior- 
ated!) A  rough  plank  lay  across  the  ravine  so  that  those  who  wished 

38 


to  cross  dry-shod  could  do  so.  This  ravine  was  fed  by  numerous  springs 
which  supplied  the  families  roundabout  with  pure  water.  The  prairie 
grass  on  its  banks  "waved  and  nodded  in  the  breezes,"  water  snakes 
darted  back  and  forth  among  the  pebbles,  miniature  ships  made  of  card- 
board floated  on  its  crystal  bosom.  Little  children  clad  in  the  homespun 
garb  of  the  time  rilled  the  air  with  the  merry  laugh  of  childhood.  We 
climb  the  hill  and  reach  the  cabin  door,  and  such  a  door!  yet  none  too 
large  to  admit  all  who  came  for  a  balm  for  life's  ills.  The  lame,  the 
sick,  and  the  blind  came — the  sorrowing  came  for  sympathy,  the  suffering 
for  relief,  the  hungry  for  food,  the  perplexed  for  counsel,  the  homeless  for 
shelter.  A  kind  word  is  always  a  safe  word,  and  a  commodity  found  in 
pioneer  homes.  We  will  enter  the  cabin  and  survey  the  interior.  The 
walls  of  the  cabin  have  been  whitewashed,  the  huge  fireplace  is  filled 
with  oak  branches — for  it  is  summer  time  and  the  cooking  is  done  over 
an  outdoor  fire.  On  the  mantel  is  the  bric-a-brac — several  candlesticks, 
heirlooms  from  homes  across  the  sea,  sea  shells  as  pink  as  the  cheeks  of  the 
pioneer  girls.  A  clock  with  a  looking-glass  in  the  door  occupies  the 
center  of  this  shelf,  and  just  above  this,  suspended  by  leather  straps,  are 
the  fire-arms —  a  rifle  of  rare  capabilities,  several  shotguns  and  an  old- 
time  flintlock  pistol  completes  the  artillery.  Chairs  with  straight  backs 
and  as  hard  as  the  Westminster  catechism  suggested  dignity  rather  than 
comfort.  The  rustic  cradle  in  the  corner  contains  the  last  blossom  which 
came  to  bless  this  cabin  home.  This  cradle  is  rocked  by  the  chubby  hand 
of  a  little  boy  who  has  just  donned  his  first  pants.  This  little  boy  is  a 
white-haired  man  today  carrying  a  load  of  years  and  sorrows,  and  the 
little  pink  baby  we  saw  in  the  cradle  is  with  us,  labeled  an  Old  Settler, 
and  is  wearing  the  honors  which  have  come  to  him  with  a  look  of  resigna- 
tion pleasant  to  behold. 

But  to  return  to  the  cabin.  There  is  a  rude  bookcase  (home-made)  ; 
upon  its  shelves  may  be  found  the  mental  food  upon  which  this  family 
was  fed.  I  will  mention  a  few  of  these  books:  "The  Rise  and  Progress 
of  Religion  in  the  Soul,"  by  Philip  Dodridge;  "Baxter's  Saints'  Rest," 
"Pilgrim's  Progress,"  two  volumes  of  sermons  by  Richard  Watson; 
Adam  Clark's  "Commentary."  Do  you  wonder  the  pioneer  children 

39 


became  good  men  and  women?  Here,  too,  were  the  poems  of  Cowper, 
Scott  and  Burns,  and  a  scant  supply  of  choice  fiction.  Wrong  impres- 
sions have  taken  root  in  the  minds  of  some  concerning  these  pioneer  homes, 
and  they  think  of  them  as  not  only  rude  in  structure  but  as  devoid  of  the 
refining  influences  found  in  the  homes  of  today.  This  idea  is  foreign  to 
the  truth.  There  were  many  cabins  in  Stark  county  that  were  models  of 
neatness  and  taste,  where  the  presence  of  refined  and  cultured  mothers  left 
their  impress  on  the  home,  and  there  are  those  here  today  whose  feet  have 
crossed  the  threshold  of  these  cabins,  who  will  enter  them  with  me,  and 
will  recognize  some  of  these  noble  mothers.  It  was  here  true  worth  found 
its  test,  and  after  all  has  been  said  that  can  truthfully  be  said  of  pioneer 
life,  the  chief  factor  of  happiness  in  these  homes  was  the  pioneer  mother. 
Home  was  her  domain,  and  nothing  that  heart  or  brain  could  suggest,  or 
hand  execute,  that  would  add  beauty  or  comfort  to  the  home,  was  left 
undone;  for  as  the  sun  colors  the  flowers,  so  does  environment  color  the 
life  of  woman,  and  while  we  would  congratulate  the  young  people  of  our 
country  who  are  now  in  the  valley  of  opportunity,  we  would  not  forget 
those  who  climbed  the  rugged  steps  of  life  to  lay  the  foundation  of  our 
present  prosperity. 

"While  we  love  to  stray  back  to  the  days  that  are  gone, 
Along  the  green  lanes  of  the  past," 

We  must  leave  these  pioneer  days,  with  their  myriads  of  precious  mem- 
ories, and  for  a  few  moments  deal  with  the  busy  present.  In  the  world's 
today  we  see  a  vast  pagaent  moving  onward  and  upward  to  a  broader 
and  grander  civilization,  and  in  this  procession  is  "The  New  Woman." 
It  is  true  she  flutters  and  fumes  as  if  ill  at  ease,  but  in  the  world's  tomor- 
row she  will  adapt  herself  to  these  new  conditions  and  stand  by  the  side 
of  man  in  the  beauty  and  dignity  of  true  womanhood.  To  be  worth 
more  today  than  yesterday!  This  is  glory  and  life,  in  the  individual  or 
in  a  nation. 

Welcome,  and  all  hail,  to  the  Old  Settlers!  and  to  the  young  settlers, 
and  to  the  guests  who  are  with  us  today !  And  we  would  extend  greetings 
to  the  strangers  in  our  midst. 

All  hail  to  Molly  Stark !     May  her  shadow  never  grow  less ! 

40 


MRS.  A.  M.  LEGG 

BOUT  the  year  1  854  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Legg  be- 
came residents  of  Toulon.  They  came  from 
Manchester,  New  Hampshire,  and  built  a  home 
where  Dr.  Bacmeister  now  lives.  Mrs.  Legg 
brought  to  our  village  the  proverbial  New  Eng- 
land thrift,  and  was  classed  among  the  best 
housekeepers  of  the  country.  She  was  a  royal 
entertainer,  and  her  home  was  the  rallying  place 
for  those  who  enjoyed  her  acquaintance.  After 
the  lapse  of  years  we  can  recall  social  occasions 
made  memorable  by  her  tact  and  untiring  energy, 
but  her  generosity  extended  beyond  the  precincts 
of  home.  The  sick  and  the  poor  were  often 

regaled  with  dainties  from  her  hand,  and  cheered  by  her  genial  presence. 
The  fiber  of  her  being  was  of  no  common  sort,  and  when  she  conferred 
a  favor  it  was  not  done  grudgingly.  A  better  friend  or  neighbor  was  not 
to  be  found,  and  when  the  family  was  lured  far  away  from  us  by  promises 
of  a  more  lucrative  position  in  the  west,  expressions  of  regret  were  heard 
on  all  sides,  and  while  but  few  remain  here  who  enjoyed  the  friendship 
of  the  deceased,  there  are  those  who  are  saddened  by  her  death.  Mrs. 
Edna  Forbes  of  Omaha,  is  the  only  child,  and  she  has  been  the  earthly 
solace  of  her  mother  during  the  years  of  widowhood,  and  was  by  her  side 
to  receive  the  parting  words  and  the  last  look  of  love  as  she  passed  beyond 
the  shadows. 

How  fast  the  early  settlers  of  our  country  are  being  gathered  home! 
Friends  who  were  bound  by  the  closest  ties  of  friendship  and  ties  of  blood ; 
these  ties  bind  like  girths  of  steel;  yet  death  severs  them  and  memory  is 
the  only  friend  that  grief  can  call  its  own. 


41 


TWENTY-FIVE  YEARS  AGO 

An  Address  Delivered  by  Mrs.   H.  M.  Blair  on  the  25th  Anniversary 
of  the  birth  of  the  Woman's  Club  of  Toulon 

UR  meeting  here  this  evening  is  to  mark  in  this 
pleasant  manner  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of 
the  Woman's  Club  of  Toulon.  We  feel  hon- 
ored by  the  presence  of  so  many  guests.  The 
constitution  and  by-laws  of  the  Woman's  Club 
of  Toulon  as  formulated  by  Mrs.  E.  H.  Shal- 
lenberger  and  Mrs.  S.  D.  Walker,  have  led  us 
through  pleasant  paths  for  twenty-five  years,  and 
but  few  changes  have  been  made  in  the  original 
documents.  The  constitution  was  signed  at  the 
home  of  our  first  president,  Mrs.  Ruth  A. 
Turner,  and  the  following  names  were  attached, 
as  written:  Mrs.  E.  H.  Shallenberger,  Mrs.  S. 

D.  Walker,  Mrs.  Ruth  A.  Turner,  Mrs.  H.  M.  Blair,  Mrs.  Lois  Bald- 
win, Mrs.  Eliza  Lyon,  Mrs.  E.  L.  Hall,  Mrs.  Carrie  Rhodes,  Miss  Sarah 
Berfield  and  Miss  Sarah  Turner.  Later  other  names  were  added  and  the 
record  shows  fifteen  active  members,  and  they  were  active.  There  were 
no  laggards  in  the  camp,  and  no  back  work  was  reported. 

We  met  ever  Saturday  evening  during  the  year  at  7  o'clock,  rain  or 
shine,  and  there  were  obstacles  to  overcome  unknown  to  many  of  our 
present  membership.  No  concrete  walks  furnished  pleasant  access  to  our 
homes.  Plank  walks  well  plastered  with  Illinois  mud  or  winter  snows  led 
up  to  our  doors.  No  electric  lights  illumined  our  paths  and  often  only  the 
stars  lighted  us  home. 

There  are  few  societies  where  greater  harmony  has  prevailed.  We 
seldom  see  the  sky  however  blue  entirely  destitute  of  clouds,  and  when  a 
ripple  of  discontent  has  appeared  in  our  club  the  perennial  fiber  of  good 
will  has  chased  it  away.  None  will  question  our  loyalty  to  the  interests 
of  our  club  or  as  a  rule  our  loyalty  to  each  other.  I  mention  this  fact  as 
it  is  claimed  that  women  never  work  together  for  any  length  of  time 


43 


without  a  jangle.  In  the  early  days  of  the  club  the  social  side  of  the 
club  meant  much  to  its  members.  There  were  fewer  organizations  to 
occupy  the  minds  of  the  people  and  scarcity  often  adds  relish.  So  our 
club  came  into  existence  at  a  time  when  many  of  our  busy  homekeepers  felt 
the  need  of  mental  stimulus.  The  charter  members  have  been  chided  for 
clinging  so  tenaciously  to  the  old  mooring,  but  the  mariner  always  honors 
the  craft  that  has  brought  him  safely  over  seas  rough  and  smooth,  for 
twenty-five  years.  You  cannot  wonder  that  they  who  have  nurtured  this 
club  from  its  infancy  feel  a  pride  in  its  growth  and  strength,  and  as  they 
meet  to  celebrate  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  its  birth  that  they  cling 
fondly  to  the  guiding  hands  that  have  been  instrumental  in  bringing  it  to 
its  present  state  of  literary  and  social  perfection. 

Death  has  claimed  fifteen  of  our  number  during  the  twenty-five  years. 
"Those  lost  to  sight,  to  memory  dear"  are  Mrs.  F.  A.  Henderson,  Mrs. 
Martha  Myers,  Mrs.  Eliza  Davis,  Mrs.  Alice  Burge,  Mrs.  E.  H.  Shal- 
lenberger,  Mrs.  Delle  Rennick,  Mrs.  Eliza  Lyon,  Mrs.  Lucy  P.  Smith, 
Mrs.  Allie  Hall,  Mrs.  Kate  Geer,  Mrs.  Mary  Hartley,  Mrs.  Willett,  Miss 
Sarah  Turner,  Mrs.  S.  A.  Chamberlain,  Mrs.  Helen  Follett.  Many 
others  have  removed  to  distant  homes  and  are  now  on  our  list  of  corres- 
ponding members.  Some  of  these  we  shall  hear  from  tonight. 

Our  present  method  of  changing  officers  is  far  better  than  the  old 
plan  of  electing  by  ballot,  which  always  occupied  one  evening  every 
three  months,  and  often  occasioned  more  or  less  friction,  as  few  enjoy  see- 
ing their  friends  "turned  down,"  and  out  of  thirty  members  only  four  could 
possibly  be  elected.  Now  the  succession  is  so  pleasant  and  complete  we 
look  into  four  new  faces  constituting  the  official  board  and  accept  the 
change  without  a  murmur.  Commencing  at  the  top  of  the  roll  the  first 
four  named  constitute  the  officers  and  as  they  move  up  and  pass  out  of 
office  the  next  four  come  into  place  and  so  on  to  the  end — giving  each 
member  an  equal  share  of  official  honor. 

We  have  been  growing  in  wisdom  if  not  in  knowledge.  The  printed 
programs  relieve  the  president  of  the  laborious  task  of  arranging  the  work 
for  each  evening;  and  while  we  reverence  the  past,  we  are  adopting  new 
methods  and  consider  ourselves  a  progressive  body.  These  anniversaries 

44 


are  milestones  in  the  highway  of  thought.  Banquets  and  sociables  have 
marked  the  close  of  each  year's  work,  and  we  are  encouraged  by  the 
retrospect.  Those  who  have  passed  on,  and  are  no  longer  with  us,  merit 
a  loving  remembrance  tonight. 


Touch  us  gently,  Time! 
We've  not  proud  nor  soaring  wings: 
Our  ambition,  our  content, 
Lies  in  simple  things 
Humble  voyagers  are  we 
O'er  Life's  dim  unsounded  sea, 
Seeking  only  some  calm  clime: 
Touch  us  gently,  gentle  Time! 

B.  W.  Procter 


45 


A  VOICE  FROM  THE  PAST 

HE  brick  house  on  the  corner  of  Franklin  and 
Main  streets  in  Toulon  about  to  be  torn  down  to 
give  place  to  the  new  bank  building,  deserves  a 
place  in  the  history  of  Toulon.  The  lot  upon 
which  this  house  stands  was  formerly  owned  by 
W.  W.  Drummond,  and  in  July  of  1852  he 
sold  it  to  Henry  Kerr,  who,  in  1853,  sold  to 
John  Kerr,  who  built  the  house  about  to  be 
demolished.  John  Kerr  was  an  Irishman,  and 
.  many  other  things  not  so  creditable.  He  called 

himself  a  merchant  tailor — which  doubtless  he 
was.  The  contract  for  building  this  house  was 
given  to  a  man  not  a  resident  of  our  town. 

Wheeler  B.  Sweet  furnished  the  brick.  After  the  walls  had  reached  the 
gables  they  had  spread  to  such  an  extent  that  the  building  was  condemned ; 
for  a  time  it  was  thought  the  walls  would  have  to  be  taken  down,  but  by 
the  aid  of  iron  braces  they  were  drawn  into  place  and  the  roof  was  put  on, 
but  Mr.  Kerr  refused  to  accept  the  building.  Later  a  compromise  was 
effected  and  Mr.  Kerr  and  wife  moved  into  the  house.  The  first  story  was 
fitted  up  for  a  store  and  tailor  shop,  where  a  fine  line  of  men's  goods  was 
displayed.  No  such  cloth  had  ever  been  sold  in  the  town,  and  Mr.  Kerr 
had  all  the  custom  he  could  desire,  but  owing  to  some  misdemeanors  he 
soon  became  unpopular  and  in  1  856  he  sold  the  property  to  E.  N.  Gates 
and  disappeared  from  our  midst. 

The  house  had  then  stood  vacant  for  some  months  when  General 
Henderson  sold  his  home  to  Samuel  Dewey  and  moved  into  the  Kerr 
house  while  his  new  home  was  being  built — the  place  now  owned  by 
Mr.  Cotton.  The  next  occupant  was  William  Rose,  who  kept  hotel 
here  for  a  short  time,  and  he  was  succeeded  by  B.  A.  Hall,  who,  with 
his  estimable  wife,  kept  a  model  hotel  for  several  years.  It  was  here  that 
Stephen  A.  Douglass  was  entertained  when  in  Toulon  upon  the  occasion 
of  what  was  to  have  been  a  joint  debate  with  Abraham  Lincoln.  Mr. 


47 


Hall  moved  to  Omaha  and  died  there  several  years  since.  B.  G.  Hall, 
at  one  time  superintendent  of  schools  in  Stark  county,  also  lived  here. 
In  1876  Mr.  E.  N.  Gates  sold  the  property  to  Daniel  Wolgamwood, 
and  in  1877  Mr.  Wolgamwood  sold  to  Albert  W.  Bell.  In  1880  Bell 
sold  to  John  H.  Slater.  In  1  881  John  Slater  sold  to  William  H.  Slater. 
In  1  889  William  H.  Slater  deeded  this  property  to  John  Hufnagel  of 
Lombardville,  who  later  sold  to  James  Nowlan,  who  with  his  family  has 
occupied  this  house  for  more  than  twenty  years.  And  while  the  exterior 
of  this  home  has  not  been  attractive,  the  interior  has  given  amj5le  evidence 
of  the  taste  and  industry  of  its  occupants. 

This  house,  like  most  human  lives,  has  passed  through  vicissitudes, 
but  the  old  structure  has  stood  erect  amid  the  storms,  as  if  defying  all 
former  predictions  of  danger.  Could  these  now  forsaken  walls  speak  they 
could  tell  weird  tales  as  strange  as  modern  fiction. 

At  times  in  the  past  this  has  been  a  social  center,  noted  guests  have 
found  entertainment  here.  Children  whose  merry  voices  echoed  through 
these  halls  are  men  and  women  carrying  burdens  childhood  never  knew, 
and  as  brick  after  brick  falls  to  the  ground  we  can  but  realize  that  the 
world  has  little  use  for  the  old — with  the  20th  century  civilization  the  old 
must  give  place  to  the  new.  Time  makes  history;  although  his  hand  may 
leave  traces  of  sadness,  these  are  lessons  we  all  must  learn.  The  story  of 
this  home,  imperfect  as  it  is,  may  revive  memories  that  will  live  after  the 
last  vestige  of  this  old  land-mark  has  disappeared  from  sight. 


48 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS- URBANA 
977.351B57P  C001 

PICTURES  OF  THE  PAST  GRAND  RAPIDS 


0112025392322 


